


What The Fuck Is Spelunking?

by Pippins_Mushr00ms



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Caves, Claustrophobia, Dark, Gen, Monsters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spelunking, Suspense, This sure took a turn, Why am I doing this to myself?, cryptid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-06-04 19:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15154127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippins_Mushr00ms/pseuds/Pippins_Mushr00ms
Summary: "Absofuckinglutely not," Grif huffed, sitting back and crossing his arms. "You are out of your goddamned mind."He and Simmons were in the kitchen. Grif was nursing a cup of what he claimed was coffee, but looked more like chocolate milk."It'll be f--""Do NOT say 'fun', Simmons. The words 'cave' and 'fun' do not belong in the same sentence. Now the words 'cave' and 'very-fucking-unsafe', on the other hand...""But--!" Simmons sputtered.Grif raised a mismatched eyebrow over his coffee mug as he took a sip."No. You know how I feel about caves," Grif set his mug back down, "Go ask Donut. Or Tucker. I'm sure they'd love to go exploring holes with you."(What could possibly go wrong?)(COMPLETED!)





	1. Chapter One

 

PART ONE  
\-------------------

 

Not many people were aware of the fact that Simmons was an avid cave explorer before he'd been shipped out to war. He wasn't a paid professional, by any means, but he was pretty darn good if he did say so himself, and he'd had to wriggle his way out of a sticky situation or two. He had experience, the knowledge and he actually had the proper gear gathered for the first time since joining the army.

That morning, on Chorus's moon, when Simmons was out for a morning jog, he'd stumbled on a dark crack in the mountainside. Obscured by a few large silver leaves, that familiar rush of excitement hit him before he'd even shoved the foliage aside. He just knew he had to get back and explore.

He'd even gone in partway with his headlamp on, just to check it out.

The narrow opening had quickly turned into a fairly large cavern. The artificial light shown off the slick, dark walls. Simmons could hear the tell tale 'drip drip drip' of water echoing and saw round shadowed entrances to possible tunnels.

He was positively giddy at the prospect of enjoying his old hobby. He just needed a safety buddy.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Absofuckinglutely not," Grif huffed, sitting back and crossing his arms. "You are out of your goddamned mind."

He and Simmons were in the kitchen. Grif was nursing a cup of what he claimed was coffee, but looked more like chocolate milk.

"It'll be f--"

"Do NOT say 'fun', Simmons. The words 'cave' and 'fun' do not belong in the same sentence. Now the words 'cave' and 'very-fucking-unsafe', on the other hand..."

"But--!" Simmons sputtered.

Grif raised a mismatched eyebrow over his coffee mug as he took a sip.

"No. You know how I feel about caves," Grif set his mug back down, "Go ask Donut. Or Tucker. I'm sure they'd love to go exploring holes with you."

"And have to listen to all the double entendres the whole time? No thanks. Come on! You'd be with me! And I'm practically a pro at this! We'll be fine! Look, I have all the right equipment. Headlamps, flashlights, food, water, ropes, clips, some--"

Grif picked up his coffee again and just let Simmons talk. There was no changing his mind on this. No way. Fuck caves, fuck bats, fuck spiders, fuck the claustrophobia and fuck everything to do with spelunking (or whatever the hell Simmons had called it). He began shaking his head 'no' while the cyborg went on, mostly tuning him out. Simmons didn't notice and kept listing supplies.

"Simmons, huh uh. I'm. Not. Going," he reiterated, after taking the last slurps of coffee. He set his mug down with a thunk to punctuate the end of his sentence.

Simmons paused in his speech, looking disappointed. He sat there dejectedly long enough for Grif to think he let it go. Then an evil gleam came into his eye. His face split into a sly grin.

Uh oh. Grif knew that grin. He began shaking his head vehemently again.

"What if--"

" Nope."

"I ask Tucker--"

"Huh uh!"

"To get a family sized pack--"

"No!"

"Of double stuft oreos?"

Grif let his head hit the table in defeat and he heard Simmons snort.

Oreos. Of course Simmons would use his weakness against him. And Tucker had an absolutely uncanny ability to procure goods that were otherwise unprocurable. Grif could already feel himself start salivating at the mere thought of chocolatey cookie goodness.

"FIIIINE," he groaned loudly into the table.

" Yeah! "

Grif snapped his head up to look his friend in the eye.

"BUT, I have conditions," he said seriously, remembering every single horror movie involving caves that he'd ever seen.

Simmons's grin faltered slightly and he watched Grif intently, waiting for him to speak.

"Number one," he began, holding up a finger, "No moving, self-aware plants or plant-like animals--"

"Technically, that's two," Simmons interrupted, Grif spoke over him.

"NUMBER TWO," Grif said loudly, holding up another finger. "No bats. If there's bats, I'm turning the fuck around and leaving."

Simmons nodded. Obviously, there would be a thing about bats. He didn't see it hear any in the cave when he checked it out, but one could never know for sure.

"Number three," he held up the corresponding finger. "NO CAVE DIVING. If there's an underground lake or some shit, WE. ARE. NOT. SWIMMING."

" Where are you getting this crap? " Simmons asked.

"Number four," continued Grif, holding up a fourth finger and pointedly ignoring the question. "Claustrophobia. I get it. Badly. If the tunnels get too tight, I'm am also turning the fuck around and leaving."

" Oh, come on, Grif, I've seen you nap in closets--"

"Yeah, and I can probably bust out of a closet if I have to!" Grif's voice rose a few octaves. "Solid rock is a little bit beyond my strength, don't you think?"

" But-- but I'm part machine? "

"No. Nope. Shut it, I'm almost done and this one is important. Number five; if I turn the fuck around and leave, I am dragging your ass with me. I have seen too many fucking movies and a lot of shit starts when they have to go back for their friend or whatever. There. Them's my terms, dude; take 'em or leave 'em."

" Grif... "

Simmons sat back and thought for a moment, furrowing his brow. Clearly, Grif was distressed. Okay, so, this would just be a nice, calm little walk in a cave, then. A few times around the main entrance, maybe check out some of the tunnels near the back. Maybe Grif would relax a little once he actually saw it.

They could even set up a safety line leading back to the entrance if it made the orange soldier feel better.

"Deal?" Grif held out his hand.

Simmons broke into a grin and stuck out his hand towards Grif.

"Deal," he said.

Grif grabbed the metallic hand and shook it once, albeit sourly. He had hoped Simmons would turn his terms down and asked someone else.

"Ugh, I can't fucking believe this."

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PART TWO  
\-----------------------------

Grif, to his dismay, found himself led away from Red Base and into the nearby silver forest. Towards the hulking mountain's roots. There was a bounce in the cyborg's step that just annoyed Grif the longer they walked. He dawdled slowly behind and lit up a smoke, just to be irritating.

They both were mostly out of their armor and wearing their Kevlar undersuits, leaving only their knee and forearm plates on at Simmons's insistence. (And they'd shoved their helmets in the duffel bag at Grif's.)

"You have to wear tight clothes so you don't get snagged up on any rocks, but if we have to crawl, it may as well be comfy, right?" Simmons had chirped, while he'd been packing his supplies into said bag.

"Uh, you seem to be ahead of yourself there. No, we will not be crawling, we will be turning the fuck around, remember? Dragging you, if I need to." Grif had bitched back, expelling smoke.

His attitude couldn't put a damper on Simmons. The redhead was practically skipping 15 feet of so ahead of him and kept circling back to him in excitement like a big metallic puppy.

This was some bullshit. Simmons knew how he felt about caves. He also knew Grif wouldn't let him go alone. Not when they hadn't even fully scoped this moon out. Sure, Kimball SAID it was safe, but who didn't know they had DINOSAURS on a MOON so close to home??

Simmons seemed to be slowing down now. Maybe they were close. Grif took another pull off his smoke, slowing his meandering steps even more. The hair on the back of his neck felt like it was standing up.

"Grif, over here!"

He groaned, puffing the last of his cigarette before tossing it down and grinding it out beneath his boot.

Simmons was crouched down, unzipping the duffel bag when Grif caught up. Wordlessly, the maroon soldier handed him up a flashlight, a spool of tough, nylon-looking rope, a small mallet, and what appeared to be a railroad spike with a loop on the end.

"Seriously?" He grumbled, looking at the tools. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

"I figured we'd set up safety line we can follow back of we needed it," Simmons replied, standing up. He took the spike, mallet and rope back and stuffed a ration bar into Grif's hand. "You know, if you want to."

"Uh, yeah, sounds good," Grif responded automatically, looking around. "Where is this cave at again?"

"Oh, right here, " he grinned.

Grif's stomach clenched when Simmons pulled back a handful of shimmery tree branches to reveal the narrow, sinister looking crack. He lobbed the ration bar back at the duffel bag. No way he could eat now.

He clicked on his flashlight and edged forward, shining the beam into the crack. The pitch darkness seemed to absorb the light and smother it out. Grif couldn't help but think of a black hole as he stuck his head in for a glance.

The flashlight gave him just enough light to make the wet walls glint, but otherwise seemed useless.

"Simmons, this is kind of giving me a bad feeling," Grif said, stepping back.

He wondered if it was too late to call Tucker and cancel those Oreos.

"Oh, come on, Grif, we've been in worse places!" Simmons slapped him jovially on the shoulder. "It'll be okay, let's just go have a look. Just for a few minutes. I promise it's bigger on the inside."

The cyborg set to work pounding the stake into the rocks. Grif watched him toss the mallet down next to bag when it was sufficient, and fastened the rope to the loop.

Grif had a sudden brilliant thought and tapped out a quick message to Wash on his wrist communicator:

EXPLORING A CAVE W/ SIMMONS @ BASE OF MOUNTAIN CLOSEST RED BASE. DROPPED GPS PIN ON OUR LOCATION.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for coming to the note section! I just wanted to put this out there in case anyone is triggered or something. (I know I was, that's why I'm having such a hard time lol) This story will be based loosely on John Jones of Utah, who got irreparably stuck in Nutty Putty cave.
> 
> I'll spare you the details, but feel free to look them up if you like.


	2. Chapter Two

PART THREE

\-------------------

 

A soft *ping!* startled Wash out of his concentration.

At Tucker's insistence (read 'demands'), the former freelancer was relaxing.

To be more specific, he should have been napping, but Wash swore he wasn't tired. Instead, he contented himself with a novel on his data pad. It'd seemed to pacify the teal soldier and it had been forever since he read a book anyway.

He tossed it down on his bed and stood to reach his communicator off his dresser. It was probably Caboose again, asking about snack time for Freckles. In Caboose-speak, that probably meant something along the lines of "When can we have target practice?"

Or Caboose literally thought the sentient rifle needed a snack. He still had a hard time telling the difference sometimes.

Wash shook his head, both amazed and impressed that the Blue had made it this far. He grabbed the communicator, tapped the little screen and blinked in surprise. It was a message from Grif. He sat back down on his bed and read:

EXPLORING A CAVE W/ SIMMONS @ BASE OF MOUNTAIN CLOSEST RED BASE. DROPPED GPS PIN ON OUR LOCATION.

Okay?

'DID YOU MEAN TO SEND THIS TO SARGE?' he typed back.

Almost immediately, there was another soft *ping!*

NO, SARGE KNOWS. HE LAUGHED AT US.

*ping!*

SIMMONS PUT A SAFETY LINE IN THE ROCK BUT I WOULD LIKE TO HAVE MY WHOLE ASS COVERED.

Huh?

'ARE YOU GUYS LOST ALREADY?' replied Wash, puzzled.

NO WE'RE STILL OUTSIDE.

Wash snorted and responded quickly.

'THEN WHAT'S THE PROBLEM?'

*ping!*

I FUCKING HATE CAVES DUDE THAT'S THE PROBLEM. THEY MAKE MY GUTS HURT. JUST LOAD THE DAMN GPS PIN AND COME FIND US IF I CALL YOU SCREAMING.

Wash shook his head, amused, and tapped on the attachment from Grif's first message. A holographic map of their moon popped up, with a little red dot about halfway between Blue Base and Red Base. That must be them.

He tapped on the dot and the map zoomed in on the terrain.

'OKAY, GOT IT. BE CAREFUL. YOU GUYS HAVE FUN," he replied.

*ping!*

GODDAMN IT, WHY DOES EVERYONE AROUND HERE THINK CAVES ARE FUN??

'OKAY, I MEANT 'BE CAREFUL, HAVE AN AWFUL TIME'.'

Wash chuckled.

*ping!*

WE WILL.

The freelancer snorted again, tossed the communicator down on his bed and picked up his book.

He was still smiling as he went back to reading.

After the whole fiasco with the dinosaurs (not to mention the methshroom incident), a nice little walk in cool cave would be easy. Maybe they'd even find a sweet underground lake.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PART FOUR  
\----------------------

 

"Who are you texting so hard?" Simmons asked, elbow deep in the duffel bag again. He frowned slightly when he found Grif's uneaten ration bar, but said nothing.

"I sent a GPS pin to Wash," Grif shrugged.

"Why? Sarge knows," said the redhead. He stood up and handed Grif a harness.

"If we get lost, who better to rescue us than Billy Badass?" asked Grif, staring down at the mess of straps. His breath caught imperceptibly in his throat.

He pinched the bridge of his scarred nose a moment before he looked back up at Simmons.

"And what the fuck do we need this for? We're getting pretty suited up for a quick jaunt around a cave!"

A flash of anger flushed Simmons's face and he felt his blood pressure spike for the first time today. He heard the panic in Grif's voice, sucked in a quick breath and tried to calm himself down. He understood the fear of caves and the claustrophobia. He got the bat thing. Shit, even Simmons understood that underground cave lakes were creepy!

"Grif, we'll have a line leading us right back here!" he burst out.

"So?! What happens if we let go or drop it and can't find it?!"

"We won't lose it! That's what the harnesses are for! We clip the line to us so our hands are free! I used to do this all the time! This is standard safety stuff!"

Grif stood silent, scowling at his friend for a frustratingly long moment. (Fuck, he really wanted another cigarette.)

Simmons's bionic ear caught the unmistakable sounds of Grif's shakey breathing in the awkward silence. He was fighting to keep it even. Simmons scrubbed a hand through his short auburn hair and sighed.

"All right, look, you can stay out here if you really want to. Just... watch the safety line, then," Simmons finally relented.

He tried to mask his disappointment by becoming suddenly very busy slipping his own harness up his legs and cinching it at his waist.

"And, what? Let you go in by yourself?" Grif asked sarcastically. "Yeah fuckin' right."

"You know I HAVE been in here already, right?" countered Simmons, attaching a clip. "I'll be all right. If you want to stay out here and be, I dunno, outside communication, that's fine."

"Damn it, Simmons, just help me put this goddamn thing on!" he half shrieked , stomping into the legholes.

Grif yanked it up with difficulty. His movements were angry and forced. His hands clenched around the straps and made his knuckles white. Thankfully their Kevlar gloves hid them. Grif was doubly thankful they also hid their slight tremors. (Did he mention that he would *love* another cigarette?)

Fuck sake, he was going to go into a full blown panic attack here soon, he knew. He took a deep breath and fumbled around with the oddly placed belt buckle, swearing softly.

"Hey."

"Yeah, what?" Grif demanded, finally looping the buckle around his back.

"Will you just trust me? I promise I won't let you get lost in here."

"Yeah, Simmons, I know, I fucking trust you. Goddamn it." snapped Grif, truthfully. (Simmons blinked.)

"Hey, Grif? "

"I said I trust you! Let's just get this over with!"

"Thanks, it's just that, uh... You, uh, put your harness on backwards."

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos, comment, and hits on my other stories, omg! :D


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I do a disclaimer yet? No? Okay. Here we go; I don't own anything rooster teeth/RvB related, I'm just borrowing some stuff. Thanks for all the likes, comments and hits! Also, i did some small edits for continuity, sorry.

 

PART FIVE  
\--------------

Simmons went into the dark first, now that everything was properly aligned and set to go. Half his vision went green as night mode in his bionic eye activated automatically with the sudden change in light. Helmets and headlamps on, flashlights at the ready, they wiggled through the crack and waited for the rest of their eyes to adjust.

He and Grif were clipped together by a fair length of rope at the orange soldier's insistence, stating they should not be out of arms reach. Which was a little ridiculous but not unheard of, so Simmons came up with a compromise of about five feet of cord between them.

The spool of rope itself was safely attached to Simmons's belt and ran though both the soldiers' harnesses. Grif found comfort in the soft, steady 'clickclickclickclick' as the line unrolled with every step.

Their light swept through the cavern, illuminating the damp walls, solid (mostly flat) ground and, Simmons noted with delight, three separate looking tunnels.

"See?" Simmons asked, his voice echoing. "Not so bad, right?"

Grif remained silent next to his friend before he gave a noncommittal grunt and jerked his head.

"Come on," said Simmons.

The cyborg took a few steps forward, making sure to keep the line between them slack. The spool ticked once or twice and he felt Grif moving to match his stride. Simmons mentally sighed in relief.

Slowly, carefully, they picked their way across the cavern and towards the tunnels. Grif was uncharacteristically quiet as they went, his headlamp moved sporadically as he swiveled his head every which way. The movements went largly unnoticed by Simmons, who was focused on the three large holes into the rock face. If he squinted his human eye shut, his cybernetic night vision almost let him see down two of them. It looked like one of the openings might merged into another.

"Hey, are the walls SUPPOSED to sparkle like that?" Grif suddenly piped up, making him jump.

"What?"

Simmons opened his human eye all the way and followed Grif's sightline. The lamp on his helmet remained trained on a spot near the center tunnel. An odd, shimmery gray hue was illuminated.

The pair of them kept going until they could touch it. Simmons tugged his glove off with his teeth and reached out his metal hand. With seemingly no hesitation, he brushed the tips of his digits against it. They watched as the sparkly substance drifted to the floor, trailing from his fingertips.

"It looks like straight glitter," Simmons observed, rubbing his fingertips together to, what? Feel the grain, Grif guessed. He dove in again, brushing more down. It seemed to float in the air. "Like it looks like someone just threw glitter at the wall or something. What the hell?"

"Yuck, dude, don't fuckin' touch it," Grif griped at him, "That shit is getting everywhere. Come on, man, haven't you ever been in a strip club?"

"Oh, fuck off, have you?" Simmons chided him, then his voice turned thoughtful. "I wonder what this is though? It doesn't seem alive or made of rock."

"Who cares? Mysterious lunar cave glitter gives me the wiggins, dude. Let's go."

Simmon paused for a beat. Then:

"Really? The 'wiggins'? What the hell is that?"

"Uh, the creeps? The heebie jeebies? The jeepers creepers? That feeling when the hair on your neck stands up. Ugh, you know, the wiggins," Grif tried (and failed) to keep the exaspiration out of his voice, waving an arm vaguely as he spoke.

"The wiggins," Simmons repeated again,

Grif groaned, "Just frikkin' walk, dude. The sooner we get out of here, the better. Pick a damn tunnel."

With a chuckle (and another dusting of glitter, just to be annoying), Simmons turned to examine the passageways.

As he expected, when walking through the far right one, it did, in fact lead to a quick dead end. They carefully avoided stepping on the the slackened safety line. The center one was a bit larger, and looked like it twisted further back. The left one was small, too small to convince Grif to even poke his head in. They would have had to army crawl their way through, which the orange soldier vehemently refused and started to back away.

"Okay, fine, which one do you want then?" asked Simmons, conceding to his counterpart.

Grif stood between the tunnels, seemingly eyeballing them and twitching his head back and forth. The twitching went on long enough for Simmons to feel himself grow concerned. Was he having some sort of fit? What was wrong with him?

"What the f--"

"Mo," Grif finally pointed to the center tunnel.

"Jesus Christ," Simmons smacked himself in the visor.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

To be continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry this one took so long and it's so short. I'm having a hard time with this bit. Full disclosure, I've only been camping a few times when i was a kid, but never anything like this, so if i get it wrong, let me know in the comments and i can go back and fix what needs fixed. I've been in a cave, like, once, when i was maybe ten years old. XD
> 
>  
> 
> PS: the next one'll be much longer, i swear.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I'm not sure what happened, but my autocorrect shut off on my tablet and i don't know how to get it back on. That being said, sorry for any typos i miss and the show must go on. Thanks again for a the hits, comments and kudos, guys. Again, i did some small edits for continuity, heh heh sorry.

PART SIX

\--------------------

 So, down the center tunnel they went. It was tall enough that the pair could walk (mostly) upright, but single file. Despite the cord between them, Grif was nearly plastered to Simmons's back.

After an uneventful ten minutes or so of walking, Grif's flashlight was barely even shaking anymore, thank you very much. Simmons was almost skipping again. The guy was definitely in his element. What a fuckin' nerd.

To the orange soldier's disappointment, the creepy cave glitter seemed to follow them, becoming thicker, drier, and flakier the further they went. It got to the point where if they even walked too fast, it would float away from the rock. The very air itself shined when the helmet lights and torches caught it. The worst was when they turned their flashlights on each other and their black kevlar suits positively glowed.

"This is never going to go away, Dick!" He'd whined, trying and failing miserably to brush it off. All he managed to do was swirl more into the air.

Grif was trying to ignore it, but between Simmons's constant musings on the subject and the constant glinting, it was difficult, to say the least. There was also a tightness settling in his chest, not unlike the familiar sensation of the beginnings of another panic attack. Grif tried his best to ignore that too.

'Think about something else, dammit,' he told himself for probably the thirtieth time since they entered the cave.

He was desperate to change the subject. Even the ticking of the safety cord wasn't helping anymore. His breath came in short pants and he forced himself to take a deep breath.

"Can you see the end of this tunnel yet? I think I'm starting to freak out," he said honestly, taking even himself by surprise.

Out of habit, Grif ran his free hand over his helmet. He huffed with mild irritation when he came into contact with hard metal instead of combing through his hair like he'd wanted.

Simmons, walking in front, paused in his ramblings and turned around.

"Are you …kay?" Simmons asked, cocking his own helmet at him. Their voices over the radio had a tinge of static to them. Grif noticed without comment, choosing to (try to) ignore the stab of fear it caused. There was a lot going on right now that Grif would like to ignore.

"Oh, yeah, for sure, man, fuckin' peachy," he replied lightly, and then was annoyed when he tried to brush at his hair and hit his helmet again. Since retiring to their moon (and the incident with the universe's newest dinosaur extinction) Grif had quickly gotten used to being out of armor, it just was an old habit that resurfaced.

He popped the latches on his headgear and yanked it off unceremoniously. Simmons stared for an uncomfortably long time while Grif finally ran his hand through his hair.

"So can you see an end to this, or what?" He asked again, pulling his long locks up into a fat bun. (He didn't fancy a headful of fucking glitter, but it was better than suffocating in his helmet.)

"Hold on--" said the maroon soldier.

Simmons swung the duffel bag around to his front and unzipped it. Barely watching what he was doing, he pulled out one of those fancy looking headlamps and a facemask. He handed them over to his friend, who accepted gratefully. When Grif's helmet was safely tucked away in the bag, Simmons squinted his biological eye almost shut again to depend on his cybernetic night vision.

Grif fiddled around with the headlamp and mask while Simmons stared down the tunnel.

"It looks like it goes on a little …it longer but I can't see past the bend about 50 feet up," he finally replied with a shrug.

"Ugh," was all Grif said, snapping the elastic band on his headlight.

* * *

 

Part Seven

\-------------------

They made it through the tunnel with little trouble. Grif managed to calm himself, but the heavy feeling in his chest remained, accompanied now by a tickle in his throat. He had his flash light in one hand and the safety line in a loose grip in the other. His thoughts had mercifully drifted towards the promise of a whole pack of chocolatey, creamy cookie heaven upon their return.

The pair passed by the bend, went another ("oh, say, 40 feet," Simmons recalled), before the tunnel widened considerably. They then found they had to climb up about ten feet of steep but mostly walkable rock. (Grif was annoyed; climbing hadn't been part of the deal.)

 From there, the terrain suddenly leveled out so sharply, they both nearly stumbled and fell over. Well, Simmons DID fall over, but he insisted it didnt count since he didn't fully hit the ground.

"Well, shit," Grif said, wheezing with from exertion. "Fuck physical activity."

"Right," Simmons panted, getting to his feet. "Been a while."

They stood and shined their lights around the new cavern, nearly silent aside from the sound of panting. The air was thick, but at least they were in a big, open space. (Maybe now Grif could catch his fucking breath.) They almost didnt notice the lack of glitter. Somewhere along the way, the soft, steady drip of water had turned into muted roar.

There.

About 100 feet to their left. The soldiers both laid eyes on ths waterfall at the same time. There was even a small reservoir. Outside, in a lush, green field and under some warm sunshine, it would have been a pleasant sight. In a giant cavern, it just gave Grif the wiggins again.

"Wow," whispered Simmons.

"Fuck!" Grif coughed at the same time, pointing at Simmons, "Remember rule number three!"

"Yeah, yeah, no cave diving," Simmons recited, chuckling. "Don't worry."

The maroon soldier reached up to pop the seals on his own helmet and slid it off. He ruffled his orange hair off his forehead before slinging the bag around to his front. In a few moments, the cyborg was outfitted with his own mask and headlamp in place of his helmet.

"Hey, did you notice most of the sparkly shit is gone?" Asked Simmons, looking at the ground.

"I did not," Grif replied stiffly. "I was busy looking at whatever the •fuck• that is, now. Dude, seriously… the fuck is with this planet?"

"What the hell are you--?"

"Look at the ceiling," Grif murmured, swaying slightly foot to foot. He coughed again.

Simmons craned his neck back to see what he was talking about, about to ask about bats.

The sight of thousands of glowing blue-white diamonds. No, not diamonds-- some sort of phosphorescent, bioluminecent, glowing •somethings• dotting the rocky overhead halted his question in its tracks. He couldn't stop the gasp that escaped him at the sight. It was just astounding. It looked like an entire galaxy hanging just above their heads. What on Chorus were they?

"Oh my god, Grif, this is beautiful," Simmons breathed. "I've never seen anything like it."

"S-Simmons?" Grif's voice, so soft that Simmons wasn't sure he'd heard him.

He was unable to look away or stop himself from reaching up a hand and taking a few steps forward. He stopped when they seemed to… wiggle?

"Yeah?" He replied, mesmerized. "Hey, holy shit, Grif, I think they're some kind of glow worm!"

"It's…it's fu… fuckin' weird, right?" Grif mumbled, distantly (no, not distantly, •faintly•, Simmons ammended to himself, puzzled.) "Hey, I don't fee--."

A sharp tug at his waist jerked Simmons back and knocked him hard on his ass.

"Grif! What the hell!"

The only response Simmons received was a series of gasps.

Simmons scrambled to his hands and knees in order to whirl around to face his friend. Had that dumbass lost his footing? How? They were just standing there! On a flat surface, no less!

Grif was still struggling to upright himself. He didn't even know what happened. The ground had just suddenly tipped up, and Grif found himself on his back. His heart was hammering in his chest and he felt like he was caught in a wave.

"Fuuuck," he groaned, coughing, eyes closed, instinctively trying to relax and float to the surface.

Simmons grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled the orange soldier into sitting up. He seemed to be speaking, but he could barely hear him. Everything sounded dull compared to the roar of the ocean in only his ears. He coughed out lungfuls of metaphoric water. Simmons just looked terrified.

"…if! Hey, come on, man!"

He finally heard Simmons over the crashing waves, but he felt like he was still swirling around in the riptide. Without realizing he put a hand over Simmons's to anchor himself and motioned for him to keep talking between coughing fits. At least that was slowly subsiding.

"Uh, come on, man, just breath. Take a deep breath and tell me what happened," he immediately began rambling. "Come on, deep breaths! There you go, come on, just focus…"

After another few minutes, Grif had settled on short gasps instead of hacking out a lung. It wasn't great, but he was breathing. They sat in awkward silence until Grif (who was still sort of swaying in his seat) was breathing a little steadier. He groaned softly, rubbing his itchy eyes. Then--

"WHATTHEFUCKWASTHAT?" shrieked Simmons, his panic finally overtaking him. His voice echoed.

"Fuck.. if I… know…" panted Grif. "I'll tell you what… I •do• know though… it's time to go… the fuck home. Fuck me, I am still so… dizzy…"

"Yeah, yeah, let's do that. We need to get you to Dr. Grey, like, right now."

"Okay, yeah… let's do that," agreed Grif. "No… resistance here."

With Simmons's help, Grif staggered to his feet. The ground seemed to still be tilted, threatening to knock the orange soldier over again. It dimly reminded Grif of those weird, tilted fun houses he'd taken Kai to once in a while as kids.

Tentatively, he took a wobbly step. Then another. His third step, his feet tangled and he would have hit the ground again, had Simmons not been at his side.

"Fuuuucking-- what the fuck?" He mumbled, clinging to his friend as they took a few unsteady paces. "Jesus Christ, dude, you're gonna have to roll me down that fucking slope. For fuck's sake."

Grif was mostly grumbling to himself in disgust at this point. The tightness he'd felt in his chest had moved downwards and settled in his belly like a rock. There was a familiar tang in his mouth, like the morning after a night of drinking.

"Oh, my god, Simmons, I'm gonna ralph. Ahh, fuck, lemme down, lemme down!"

Simmons obliged, and Grif's knees had no sooner hit the ground and snatched his mask off before he was vomiting up anything and everything in his stomach. He got down and rolled onto his side when he was done, letting out a raspy sigh of relief. He still felt queasy, but the solid, bloated feeling was gone.

The cyborg could only stare in horror at the mess of mucous and… was that glitter? Yeah, it was glitter. Oh, shit, that was a metric fuckton of glitter.

"Uh, Grif, hate to interrupt your rest, cuz, you know, obviously you need it, but, uh, we gotta…" he trailed off, looking at him. "Oh, what the fuck?"

"What?" Grif sat up with difficulty. Then he saw what he'd puked up. Then he saw Simmons wasn't staring at the sparkle puke, he was staring at Grif.

"What?" He demanded again, squinting, "And can you get that light out of my face?"

Simmons quickly switched his headlamp off with a practiced air and then let out a squeak.

"Grif, I dont know how to break this to you, um, gently, but, uh, your fucking eyeballs are glowing."

* * *

 


	5. Chapter Five

 Chapter Five

* * *

 

"My-- fuckin'… whoballs are doing what now?" tried Grif, trying to squint past the glaring light. His stomach heaved again and his eyes snapped shut on their own accord. It was still too bright past his eyelids and an involuntary whine escaped him.

"Your eyes are g-glowing!" Simmons exclaimed again, scrambling closer.

"Simmons, seriously, the light, please?" Grif pleaded, swaying.

He reached out blindly, found the cool metal form, and pushed the flashlight down, a little roughly. He didn't let go of his friend. It was enough to jar the maroon soldier out of his awe.

"'s gonna make me fuckin' puke again, stop."

"S-sorry, sorry," he said, fumbling the switch off, and then softer, "What the fuck?"

Simmons reached out to switch Grif's lights off for him without thinking and almost jumped at the near pitch dark. The other soldier slowly cracked one eye open, sighed in relief and opened the other.

"Thanks."

"Yeah…"

They sat on the cave floor for a little while, trying to recover. Grif sat back, swaying, willing his stomach to relax. His breath still came in quiet gasps. And Simmons… perched. As he did.

The Hawaiian had himself propped up on one hand, legs splayed put in front of him, and, dammit, it was still too bright in here. His vision still swirled, and that gross, bloated feeling was already starting to tickle at his guts again. He rubbed at his midsection in a vain attempt to disperse the pressure.

Simmons was still on his knees, sitting on his feet, staring at his friend with wide eyes. His heart was finally slowing down and a fine, cold sweat coated his face, neck and hand.

Through his cyborg eye, Grif came off like a man-shaped creature on night vision cam on one of those crypto-creature hunt shows they watched together, complete with scary reflective eyes.

To Simmon's human eye, Grif looked like two dots of blue-white light with little dark centers, suspended in the inky blackness of the cave. The same color as the glowing ceiling. They drifted back and forth with each of Grif's unsteady movements. Disappearing and reappearing with his every blink. It was pretty surreal.

"Y-you know what?" asked Simmons, when he finally was able to tear his gaze away.

"What?"

"Sarge is gonna kill you for turning into a dirty Blue."

There was a beat of silence, then:

"Jesus Christ. That was fucking weak, dude."

"…I know. Just trying to break the tension."

"How's that working for you?" Grif quipped.

"Oh, you know, about as well as can be expected."

"Huh."

They sat again in silence, and Grif watched Simmons scrub his hands over his face. His face was a mix of fear, exasperation at the orange soldier, and something else. He couldn't quite pin it down. It looked like he wanted to say something else, the way his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Then he noticed.

He was reading Simmons's expressions. _In the dark. No lights._

Well, no artificial lights, he guessed, technically, regretting the glance he threw at the ceiling.

"Uh, hey, Simmons?" asked Grif, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"I can see in the dark," Grif said flatly.

Truth be told, he'd always wanted this power as a kid. The side effects were a total buzzkill though. Otherwise, he'd be fucking pumped. His stomach lurched again and he dry heaved.

"Of course you can," sighed Simmons, rubbing his neck.

"Also, my guts hurt. Come on, help me up before I barf everywhere again. Let's get the fuck out of here."

"Sure you're ready to try again?" asked the maroon soldier.

"I'm in an unfamiliar place, puking up cave glitter. My head is pounding, I feel like I'm stuck in a wavepool and I'm _pretty_ sure I'm hallucinating with my ears. Yeah. I'm ready to try again."

Simmons stood and offered Grif a hand up.

"Wait, what? What do you hear?"

"Ocean, I guess. Or it could be that creepy waterfall. Something screechy, too. I dunno, man, my ears are kinda ringing," came the reply, as Grif hauled himself to his feet.

A dull thud brought both of them to a stop. They stared at each other, eyes wide (and glowing).

"Did you hear--?"

Another thud, louder this time. A screech off in the distance. The echo made it hard to tell where it came from. The two of them were suddenly horribly aware of their lack of armor and firearms. They had hunting knives strapped to their thighs, obviously, but not much faith in them at the moment.

"Uh. On the bright side, you weren't hallucinating?"

Grif edged closer to the rocks they'd scaled and used his new nightvision to try to see. Unfortunately, the way their little tunnel had been situated, he could view down the slope and not much further.

Another thud. A crash. The ground trembled slightly with the impact. It was definitely coming from the direction they'd come from. He looked back at Simmons, whose mouth was pulled down and frozen into a grimace.

"Yeah, lets get the fuck outta here," said Grif.

"Yeah. Yeah, let's go."

"Uh, okay. One thing: do we go back and see what it is? Or move forward and hope there's a way out?" he asked.

Another crash, and the ground they were standing on _shook_. Grif fell over. Simmons tried to steady him, but wound up in the dirt himself. It seemed like a horrendously long time before everything stopped moving and when it did, the silence was deafening.

"Time to go?" asked Simmons.

"Time to go."

The maroon soldier dragged his friend to his feet again. Grif chanced another look down the tunnel. His heart sank at the sight of dust, rocks and fucking glitter crumbling into view of the slope.

"You want the bad news or the slightly better but still bad news?"

Simmons could have torn his own hair out at this point. His human hand was shaking.

"Surprise me," he said, through gritted teeth.

"Well, the slightly better but still bad news is that it looks like we're safe for now."

"Okay, not terrible, and the bad news?" asked Simmons, already guessing.

"Yeah, we're trapped as fuck. The way we came up is totally collapsed."

"Fuuuuck," he groaned, raking his metal hand through his hair.

The cyborg flicked on his flashlight (much to Grif's protests) and began to scan his surroundings.

Aside from the waterfall, there wasn't a whole lot he could see. He took a few steps until he was met with some resistance. He looked back to see Grif squinting and tugging at their safety line.

"Should we…?" He trailed off.

Simmons paused. Honestly, he didn't know what to do about that. He supposed they could start a new one, if they had time.

In the short few seconds Simmons was pondering, Grif swiped his hunting knife through the cord. He winced as through the action caused him physical pain.

"If we die in here," he began dramatically, staring down at the severed rope in his hand, "I'm going to fucking kill you."

A rumble shook their chamber again, Simmons's (remaining) blood seemed to freeze.

"Duly noted," he replied, trying to wind up the slack as fast as possible. "Let's try to do this systemically. Start here and work our way around looking for another tunnel or something?"

"May as fucking well," the orange soldier grumbled, shoving his knife back into its sheath.

With that, the two began their search.  
  


* * *

  
Notes: Thanks for all the hit, comments and kudos, everyone!

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the hits, comments and kudos, everyone! Chapter seven is in progress after a long stint of writer's block, heheh.

  **Chapter Six**

* * *

 

As luck would have it, gingerly stepping their way around the cavern, there was another tunnel. Several, in fact. A web, some might call it.

Simmons was befuddled. None of the tunnels looked like they'd been formed naturally, but at the same time, they looked too old to really tell. The walls were round and smooth, but had no tool marks. Some of them, they would have had to army crawl through (which, being honest, at this point in their day, he probably wouldn't have to try very hard to convince Grif), others they'd have to take at a crouch.

Neither of these options were appealing, they both knew.

It was just offputting and bothered Simmons immensely that something could look so familiar and yet so alien at the same time.

"Dude, they kinda look like Horus tunnels," Grif mentioned.

"Horta. Horta tunnels," corrected Simmons absently. "The Devil in the Dark, season 1, episode 26."

"Ha! Episode 25, you fucking nerd," the Hawaiian shot back triumphantly.

"We are  _not_ arguing about which episode of Star Trek is about to kill us right now, are we?" Simmons groaned, putting his face in his hands.

"No, not at all, because unlike our friend back there, Hortas are intelligent and usually nonviolent."

Simmons only answered with another groan.

The rumbling and loud thuds had not subsided, but they hadn't seemed to get any closer. The pair took that little favor from the universe gratefully, but it didn't stop their hands from shaking as they'd put their helmets back on.

Grif tried to radio Red Base to no avail. Then he'd tried Wash. The flicker of static he'd heard when they first entered the cave was now full on. They could barely hear each other, let alone try to dial out. Frustrated and nauseuous, Grif had yanked his helmet back off. Simmons soon followed suit.

"Seriously, what the fuck is the point of these things if you can't hear your teammates without the friggin' radio?" snapped Simmons, stuffing the maroon headwear back in the duffel bag.

"Yeah, well, they sent the Blues a tank without bothering to check if anyone was Armor Certified, so…" Grif grumbled back, checking his wrist communicator for the eighth time.

At this point, he'd tapped out a long message to Wash, explaining what was going on, asking for scans of the caves if they had them in the database, their location and begging him to come get them, but damned if that wasn't stuck on the 'sending' screen now too. The place was a fucking dead zone.

Out of immediate options, Grif had, at last, decided it was long past time for a smoke break. Simmons had been absolutley livid until his counterpart pointed out that they were probably going to die anyway. Only then did the Cyborg dial it back to his 'highly annoyed' setting. (Unsurprisingly, his 'highly annoyed' setting was also highly annoy _ing_ to anyone in Simmons's immediate vicinity.)

They were just going to have to pick one and get gone before whatever the fuck was in the first cavern broke through and gobbled them up like giant turkey legs at a county fair.

Grif leaned against the wall, blew out some smoke and pointedly ignored the (6th) angry sigh Simmons huffed out. His shoulders actually relaxed as the nicotine hit him. His hands still shook, but as long as he could get that cigarette up to his mouth, he couldn't give a shit. He took another deep drag.

Simmons wrung his hands together and paced for as far as the line between them would let him go. His mind was racing. Every 'thud' sent his stomach leaping up into his throat. He should have never brought them here. He should have just jogged on by when he saw the crack in the mountain this morning. Now, here they were, trapped and something clearly was wrong with Grif and he didn't know if they should try to fight or run, but all they had were those foldable camping shovels and some knives and if they _died_ , it was all  _his_ fault and --

"We'll just have to pick a tunnel and hope for the best, I guess," Grif said loudly, hoping to break his friend out of the frantic silence he'd fallen into.

And something pinged in Simmons brain. He froze midstep as he stared at the little screen on Grif's wrist. A semi-calm feeling that usually accompanies a plan washed over him.

Grif was visibly relieved at the familiar expression. He hadn't been sure if Simmons was too far into his own head, but he knew the beginnings of a panic attack a mile away.

"No, wait… we…" he started slowly, brows furrowing. "No, we should pick one that takes us higher. Hopefully, somewhere that can get a signal and let that send."

"Yeeaah, there he is!" Grif slapped Simmons on the shoulder with a grin. "All right, Plan Man, lets do this!"

"Uh okay, well, f-first, we should probably do another safety line," he began.

The rumbling behind them intensified slightly. Not by much, but enough to spur Simmons on.

"Oookay, no on the safety line," he ammended. "New plan, I'll scout ahead some of these tunnels, you wait here?"

"Uh… no fucking way?"

"I know, I know, I promised we'd stay together, but if i hit a dead end, I'll need room to turn around. I swear, i have experience doing this," Simmons explained in a rush.

He'd seen how pale the Hawaiian had gotten at his suggestion and he hated it. He turned his back as Grif pushed himself away from the wall and tossed down his cigarette butt.

"Uh, again. I say no fucking way."

THUD. A high-pitched, keening roar that shook their bones. Followed by the heavy scrape of stone. Looking back, they saw dust billowing up out of the hole.

"Ahh! Okay, fuck it! Pick one that goes up and let's go!" Simmons half shrieked.

In a flash, Simmons was pulling them towards one of the larger tunnels. They bent double and took off through the passage. They could have cried when they began to feel the ever-so-slight, but steady incline.

The sounds of shifting rock seemed to follow them closely now. It was almost tough to hear it over their pounding hearts as they ran.

* * *

To be continued...

 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES: You know what? I have some stuff to say. You guys have been absolutely wonderful and i just want to say thank you for the overwhelming responses on this.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Creatrixanimi. Thank you again for the fucking amazing art (which i have not figured out how to put on here yet ^.^;), you are a beautiful soul.
> 
> Yin, to you too. thank you for commenting, i just don't have words for the sweetness, i really don't.
> 
> Everyone who hit, comment and gave me kudos and just omg, y'all are fucking amazing. <3<3<3

Chapter Seven

* * *

Grif swore they ran for hours. His communicator said they'd only been going for about seven minutes. (That goddamned ' _sending_ ' icon still spun frustratingly in the corner if the little screen)

His breath was ragged. His guts felt like they were going to pop with each step. Every time he exhaled, the meager contents of his stomach tried to escape with a disgusting lurch. He wasn't even sure his movements could be defined as running so much as lumbering at this point.

Simmons mostly was pulling him along by the arm anyway.

"S-Simmons, stop, I'm gonna-- _huurk_!"

Grif missed his step and fell hard on his hands and knees. Simmons landed next to him with a tooth rattling thunk. He thought he tasted bood.

The orange soldier retched as soon as he hit the floor. There wasn't much to come up, just mucous and more glitter. He cursed and tried to struggle to his feet.

He was allowed exactly two and a half seconds recovery time before the tunnel shook and they heard a screech at the end of it. Simmons hauled Grif the rest of the way up with surprising stength, and they were running again.

"Fuck, dude, I think were gonna have to fight this fucking thing!" Simmons called over his shoulder. A red line trickled down his chin.

Grif gave a pretty garbled response, as he was focused on keeping one foot in front of the other. His legs and lungs burned. He risked a glance back and almost screamed at the large, inverted triangular shadow about fifty feet behind them.

They'd survived more than ten years in the stupid army, dumb ass wars that weren't theirs, freelancers, AIs, Sarge, and a million other things.

_'And I get to die in a stupid cave, puking up craft supplies, eaten by a fucking cave monster,'_ Grif thought, mentally rolling his eyes.

"Looklooklook!" Simmons yelled, "An opening! And it looks like there's light! Maybe it's our way out!"

But that would be much too easy. They sped through the opening and slammed themselves against the wall right outside the tunnel for cover and quickly took in their surroundings.

It was just another room in the mountain. Smaller than the first, but with the same network of holes. It turned out the light was more of those weird glow worms on the ceiling. Brighter than before. They hurt Grif's eyes to even see them in his peripheral vision and it made his stomach churn.

There were more lights and glitter in here than a seedy strip club in the Vegas Quadrant. Fuck.

"Well, shit, at least we have room to tussle with it, I guess," Grif managed to gasp out, squinting against the light.

"'Tussle'? Hahaha, okay, Sarge," Simmons half panted, half shrieked.

"I am… _so_  happy you're still having… fun, nerd," Grif said dryly, looking down at his communicator again. His heart almost stopped. "Oh, holy _shit_! Dude! The message _finally_ fucking went through! Fuck, yes!"

\------------  
* _ping_!*

Wash looked up from his book again to see his communicator lit up.

_'Probably Grif to say they're out,'_ he thought, grabbing it.

What he read made the blood drain from his face:

COME RSCUE US. CAVVE IN, MOSTERCHASIN U, SICK, TRAPPDE. ANY REAOUTS OF CAVE WOULD BE FUCKING HELFUL IF U GOT TEM

"TUCKER!" Wash roared, shooting to his feet. "CABOOOOSE!"

He whipped the book down, typed out a quick 'ON OUR WAY' before he shoved the communicator in his pocket and sprinted out of his room still shouting for his team mates.

There was an agonizingly long silence before Tucker poked his head out of his room to look at Wash with bleary eyes.

"Jesus, dude, what?" he whined. "I was sleeping."

"Where's Caboose?" demanded Wash, not stopping as he rushed past. "We gotta go! Call Red team. Simmons and Grif are trapped in a cave and something is after them."

"Oh, shit, what are we waiting for then?!" Tucker shot back. "CABOOSE!! TIME TO SUIT UP! MEET US IN THE GARAGE!"

There was a loud crash, followed by fast, heavy footsteps.

"OKAAAY!" Caboose's voice, though distant, was loud and clear. "NOTHING'S BROKEN, DON'T GO IN THE KITCHEN!"

In an aqua blur, Tucker was on Wash's heels.

\-----------

"Okay, so this is happening," Simmons was hyperventilating again.

His hands were shaking so bad, he could barely find what he was looking for in his bag. Finally he yanked it off him and tossed it down to make it easier.

"Please tell me you have AKs or something in that magic bag."

Simmons shook his head but didn't speak. He had to concentrate. He passed up Grif's helmet, shoved his own on, cut the radio and quickly motioned for the orange soldier to do the same. They'd have to yell to be heard but it was better than nothing.

Amid the rumbling and screeching, they could hear a new sound now. An odd, rapid clicking. Somehow, this chilled them more than the unholy keening wail.

"F-finally!" Simmons shouted in relief (or as close to relief as he could get in a life or death situation.)

Just in time too. A huge, dark, quadruped shape shot past them. It skidded to a halt and froze. There was a sound like air escaping a tire. Its long muzzle pointed upwards and it appeared to be sniffing for its prey. Slowly turned around, still hissing.

It was huge, whatever the fuck it was. Glowing blue scales covered its belly, but it looked like hair covered its back.

"Cut the line and t-take this. W-when it charges, we separate and fucking wail on it, I guess." He shouted to Grif. 

Grif had the line cut by the time Simmons finished his order. He smacked the handle of a shovel into Grif's chest, trying to pass it to him. The Hawaiian chuckled, grabbed it, and slapped his friend on the shoulder before he dropped into a fighting stance.

"Ready?"

The maroon helmet nodded. 

"Come on, you son of a bitch!" Simmons exploded, brandishing his shovel like a sword. 

Simmons hoped he sounded much braver than he felt, jabbing at it with the pointy end of his shovel. Grif looked intense when he swung his own shovel around threateningly. However, the effect was ruined slightly by the sick swaying the orange soldier had going on.

The creature whipped its scaly, muscular tail back and forth. It's head tilted to the side as if listening instead of looking. It poised itself on huge forelimbs tipped with claws that made up about a third of its arm, ideal for slicing through solid rock.

Or dumbass humans who invaded its territory. 

Currently, it looked like it preferred the latter.

The thing came at them with that same hair raising screech. They screamed as it skittered across, low ons the floor. Its four claws snapped against the stone with every step. The sound would haunt them, if they lived.

In a flash, it was on them and it hit them like a fucking truck.

Simmons made sure his shovel was braced with his cyborg arm and put his back into it. He _almost_  slowed the hulking mass down. At such close distance, they could both smell an overpowering, sulfery stench coming off the coarse, dark fur.

Grif gagged on the scent and very nearly threw up in his helmet. Only the thought of drowning in his own vomit stopped his dry heaves as he swallowed it down.

The thing screeched again, baring a snoutful of sharp teeth that almost made Simmons piss himself. A thick, forked tongue lashed at the air, seemingly at random, before the thought of an Earth snake popped into his head.

"It's -- _uff_! It's smelling for us with its tongue!" Simmons yelled hysterically, digging his feet into the ground.

He shoved it back with what little leverage he had, trying to avoid the teeth. He heard a snap. God only knew what kind of diseases this thing might carry. The sound of nails on a chalkboard made their eyes water and it took too long for Simmons to realize that it was actually the sound of its teeth scraping against his metal arm. It'd sliced through his underarmor suit like it was butter and even managed to nick his armor plating.

"Fuck!" Simmons shrill voice cracked with panic.

Grif reacted instinctively and brought his shovel swinging down at the creature's tiny eyes again and again until it leapt back (mostly because it was annoyed).

It let out a wet, throaty growl and began pacing in front of them, seemingly calculating a new plan of attack.

It lunged again, snarling. This time at Grif, pinning him bodily against a wall. He broke the impact with his free hand to keep his head from cracking against the rock too hard.

Simmons was yelling something as he ran towards him. He couldn't hear him through the goddamn helmet. He made a note to bitch about this fatal design flaw if and when they got the fuck out of here.

Grif struggled to free his immobilized arm. If he could get it out, he'd maybe be able to push it off him but it was no use.

It had him right where it wanted him.

The jaws opened wide and Grif screamed at it to fuck off before whacking at it with his shovel. It let loose a screech, and gnashed its teeth. Grif took the opportunity to shove the fucking shovel in its mouth. It retched, but didn't back down. In fact, the scales on its belly seemed to be glowing brighter the more aggitated it became.

A big problem since was already almost blinding to Grif.

"Simmons!" He yelled, "I can't fucking see, dude, get this fucker off me!!"

His fingers brushed against the knife on his thigh and suddenly it was in his hand and he was stabbing blindly into the bright blue light.

There was another shriek, something warm on his hand, and next thing Grif knew, he was on the ground again. He hadn't felt his feet leave the floor, but he sure as shit felt that landing.

He scrambled back up, ready to jump back in. He heard the sounds of struggle, but there were spots in his eyes, as if he'd stared at the sun and if he could just _see_ , goddamn it.

Simmons was still yelling swears at the beast. The sounds of heavy blows landing. A THUD, crack!

Grif squinted hard in the direction of the struggle and charged.

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

 

 


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The three Blues had hopped into a Warthog and peeled out of the garage in an impressive display. The Reds were close behind after an interesting radio transmission that had involved a lot of swearing.

Sarge had  _not_  been happy about his soldiers going off and getting themselves trapped. If he knew there would have been dangerous monsters, bet yer ass he'd have gone splunkering. What in the hell had Simmons called it? And how  _dare_  they get in a fight without him? It was damn near treason.

The rest of the Reds had simply filed into their Jeep, ready to go to the rescue.

The radar blipped Grif and Simmons's location on the screens and they seemed to be rapidly approaching. Wash opened a radio channel between them all and tried to hail the missing soldiers.

"Wash to Simmons and Grif, do you read?" The exfreelancer said into the radio. He released the call button but got only static in response. "Simmons or Grif, come in, over."

More static.

"Grif? Simmons? Do you copy?" He tried again, voice calm.

And again, there was nothing.

Tucker, in his infinate patience, hopped on as well.

"Yo, dipshits! We're coming to rescue you! Answer us!"

Wash turned his helmet and Tucker felt his annoyed gaze on him through the visor. He could _almost_ see the vein throbbing on Wash's temple.

"What?" Tucker shrugged, keeping his eyes on the trail.

Wash just shook his head.

"Just drive, please," he sounded exhausted already.

He tried the communicator again.

GRIF, DO YOU COPY. RADIOS NOT RESPONDING. WE ARE ON OUR WAY. ETA 5 MIN

* * *

In the cave, the struggle was still on.

Dark blood dripped from the wounds Grif inflicted, but it sounded like the beast was still going strong. The orange clad soldier launched himself blindly that way. Lurching forward until he hit something dark, large and alive. Or should he say, it hit _him_?

With the clank of metal hitting concrete, Grif tossed the shovel down and jumped on. He held on for dear life with one hand, and gripped his hunting knife with the other.

"Get it! Get--! Are you fucking _riding_ it?!" Simmons shrieked from the floor.

It had caught Simmons's cyborg leg when he'd tried to kick the creature away from him and was whipping him back and forth, much like a shark.

Now it had Simmons's leg in it jaws and was trying to buck Grif off at the same time. At least up on it's back, the belly scales weren't blinding him anymore.

"Are you _critiquing_ my -- ugh! Fuck!" Grif's hand slipped, pain shot through it and he he fell facefirst into the scratchy fur.

He may or  _may not_  have pissed his bodysuit as he held on tighter with his legs and bounced his helmet off its beefy ass shoulder. Grif shimmied himself forward with each bounce and managed to grab a handful of fur to anchor himself in position.

"Okay, stab! You're-- _uff!_ Right there! Stab! STAB. _NOW_ WOULD BE GOOD." Simmons grunted, helmet cracking the floor.

Grif punched his knife at where he thought the jugular vein should be. It got caught and the serrated edge dragged along a groove in the scales on its neck, opening a gaping wound.

The reaction was instant; a particularly vicious thrash sent Grif flying again and he landed hard enough to see new stars pop up in his field of vision. The air whooshed out of his lungs and he was left coughing on ground. Dimly, he heard his knife clatter away.

He also heard Simmons spluttering curses and coughing. With a snarl and a sickening, metallic crunch, it tossed Simmons away from itself. The dazed maroon soldier struggled to his feet, still spitting blood out of his mouth.

His visor was shattered and half his face was visible. It was coated in blood and he looked angry. He took a step and fell again. Confused, Simmons glanced back at himself and swore. He almost didn't notice when the cryptid turned its attention slowly back to Grif.

"Fuckin' get up and run, fatass!" Simmons yelled, army crawling towards him.

But Grif was staring at whatever was dangling in the beast's mouth. It glinted in the light of the its scales. No, not glinted, it _sparked_.

Simmons caught sight of Grif's discarded shovel and reached out to grab it.

'His leg,' Grif thought dumbly, gaping at the detached calf and booted foot. 'His leg.'

"Hey! You! Fuck you!" Simmons screamed at it. "Hey, you blue bastard, over here!"

The Cyborg began pounding the shovel against the floor to get its attention. The echoing clang made its batlike ears twitch, but all of its attention was on Grif. It continued slowly towards him, growling wetly.

"Shit!" Simmons shoved himself up and knelt back on his stump.

It gnawed on the metal limb a moment longer before deciding it was inedible and let it drop to the floor with a thud. The sound jarred Grif out of his spell and he twitched.

Claws clicked against the floor, agonizingly slow. Blood streaked down the luminous chest scales, blotting out the light where it touched. Raspy breathing echoed in the cave.

Grif scrabbled back, gasping. Simmons banged the shovel on the floor again. He braced himself on it and let his mind race for a moment.

The maroon soldier suddenly took up the shovel in his cyborg hand and launched it like a javelin, as hard as his biomechanics would allow. His own force knocked him back on the ground, but his aim was true.

"I said ' _over here'_ , asshole!" Simmons shouted, as he let go.

The camping shovel shot through the air like an arrow and with a squelch, embedded itself in the wound Grif inflicted and then some.

With a pained screech, the creature spun around at Simmons, swiping its claws at the projectile sticking out of its throat. Simmons rolled onto his belly and started moving towards Grif.

Grif took the split second of its inattentiveness and forced himself onto his feet. He noted the glowing scales were mostly blotted out by now, thank goodness. Most of the light now was by glow worm and Grif could deal with that.

Quickly scanning around, Grif located Simmons crawling towards him and dashed to his side, narrowly dodging the monster's thrashing tail.

"Th-this thing won't fucking go down!" Grif panted, hauling Simmons up by the elbow. "How much blood does th-this fucker have?"

It screeched again angrily and clawed at its neck, growing more frustrated with each failed attempt. It thrashed around wildly beating its tail against the walls.

"Uhh, I think w-we should get back," Simmons warned, not daring to take his eyes off the rampaging creature.

Drawing Simmons's arm around his shoulder and grabbing him around the waist, they hobbled and hopped backward until their backs touched the wall. There they stood frozen and through the broken visor, Simmons heard a familiar _ping_!

He turned his head to the communicator had miraculously lit up. His remaining knee went weak with relief for a moment.

Snarling, claws finally found the handle of shovel and ripped it away with a meaty tear. A spray of blood and gore washed over the pair as the creature accidentally tore its own throat out.

It let out one more wheezy screech and staggered towards Grif and Simmons. The cryptid swiped with its claws once feebly and then dropped to the floor where it struggled for a moment before slowing and finally, stilled.

After a few moments of silence and still clutching each other, Simmons and Grif slid down the wall and sat down. Each could feel the other shaking. The only sound was the pair's harsh breathing.

"S-so, we didn't d-die," Grif said, trying and failing miserably to sound nonchalant. "Th-that's awesome."

Simmons could only manage to nod. He didn't trust himself to speak just yet. And he wanted the broken helmet off his head, like, yesterday. He edged his foot away from the clawtip about six inches away.

A lighting bolt struck him.

"G-Grif, your c-communicator--" Simmons managed to get out.

The orange soldier jumped and released Simmons's wrist to check his own.

Somehow intact, the communicator blinked orange, indicating a message. He motioned to Simmons to tap the screen as he still had a vise-like grip around his friend. Simmons happily complied and they watched the little screen light come to life with a message:

_GRIF, DO YOU COPY. RADIOS NOT RESPONDING. WE ARE ON OUR WAY. ETA 5 MIN_

"Oh, holy f-fuck," Simmons felt Grif's shoulders sag with relief.

* * *

They'd finally stopped on top of the GPS pin on radar and filed out of the vehicles.

After a few minutes of searching, no one could see any cave opening. They regrouped back at the Warthogs.

"Find anything?" He started to ask.

_PING!_

Wash's could have jumped out of his own skin at this point. He looked down at his wrist and let out a yell.

_WEE ARE SILL ALIV. MONSTR DEAD. WE R BANGED UP PRTTY BAD. TUNNL CAVE IN CANT GET BACK WAY WE CAME_

Wash read the message aloud and the group collectively let out a sigh of relief. Donut and Caboose cheered, Tucker pumped a fist in the air, Sarge grumbled something about missing out on the action, while Carolina stood stoic.

We still have to get them out," she said. "Ask him where the --"

She stopped and cocked her helmet to the side, as if she saw something.

"Hey, what's that?" She asked, pointing. "How did we miss that?"

"What? What did we miss?" Tucker demanded, striding up next to her. "Wha- oh, duh."

Wash walked up beside her as well and followed her finger.

There.

Amid some large, silver leaves, it looked like someone had driven a railroad spike into the mountainside, except there was a loop on the end with nylon cord tied to it. The impeccable knot screamed Simmons. Wash recognized it almost instantly, having taught him the knot himself a couple weeks ago.

He rushed forward and ripped the leaves down to reveal a narrow, ominous crack in the mountain. The rope on the spike led directly inside.

"Well," he said, turning back to the group, "let's go get our boys."

* * *

 

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had too much fun with this one omg. I felt bad killing off my monster though :( anyway thanks for all the hits and kudos. See you next time!


	9. Chapter Nine

 

 

* * *

Chapter Nine

* * *

The pair of soldiers still sat shaking with adrenaline, but eventually, their breathing evened out. At some point, Simmons let his head drop onto Grif's shoulder out of exhaustion.

Simmons had also dropped into silence since Wash said they were going to get them. He kept twitching, which  _really_  worried Grif, but he was responsive despite the sticky coating of blood covering his helmet. His human eye was wide as it stared passed the shattered visor.

Grif reached up, wincing when his hand throbbed, and gently tugged the broken headgear off.

It seemed to wake Simmons up with a gasp. He shook his head, trying to clear it. His whole face was a giant bloodstain, but Grif saw no obvious wounds. His human hand reached for the back of his head with a grimace.

Grif tugged his own helmet off, breathing in the damp, coppery air.

Slowly, Grif took Simmons's face in his hands and turned it towards him, away from him, up, down and sideways until Simmons tiredly batted his hands away.

"Quit it," he murmured. "'M fine."

"Liar," was all Grif said, and Simmons responded with sleepy groan.

Confused, Grif glanced inside the maroon helmet and while he was not surprised to see a large red stain confined to the back, indicating a head wound (he'd seen that one), he  _was_  surprised to see that the front, as well as  _behind_  the visor was also stained and sticky. He glanced at Simmons's face again, still searching for wounds and finding none that would match.

The luminous scales of the hellcreature (that's what Grif called it in his head now, anyway) slowly faded away, leaving nothing but the dim light of the glow worms.

_ping!_

" _WE'RE HERE. WORKING OUR WAY IN. 1-10: HOW BAD ARE YOU GUYS HURT?_ "

Grif let out a shaky laugh as he read it out loud. All he knew is that Simmons's leg was done, there were concussions enough for everyone and he, himself, hurt all over. As the rush of fight or flight wore off, the nausea slowly returned. To put it on a scale of one to ten made the Hawaiian want to cackle madly.

"Fuck, what would you say we're at?" Grif settled on a chuckle, and leaned back.

"12," Simmons grunted promptly, twitching again. "You look like a 13,--"  _twitch_ "--maybe. Look at your suit, shit. How do you not-"  _twitch_  "--feel that?"

Grif looked down and was shocked to see the underarmor over his chest and stomach shredded and bloody. Further examination revealed the thighs of his suit were the same.

"What the fuck?" He murmured, then shock hit him and he looked at his aching hand.

Through his glove, he could see there was a long, deep slice across his left palm along with dozens of tiny cuts along his fingers. Small tears were visible up his left arm. It seemed…familiar? Something clicked.

"Oh, son of a bitch!"

Simmons flinched at the echo. Grif noticed, but he kicked out a foot at the dead creature in annoyance anyway. He missed.

"Grif! What the fuck!"

"The fucking thing has, like-- I dunno-- fuckin' sharkskin or something!" The Hawaiian growled, kicking half-heartedly again. Pain shot up his legs. "Fuck! The thing's fur or whatever cut my shit up!"

"Well, quit fucking touching it then," Simmons chucked him in the shoulder.

"I'm  _not_  touching it," Grif grumbled.

He kicked at it one more time, just to be annoying. He still missed. He wanted a smoke. And a drink. And something to eat.

DDUDE WE DK, WE SURVIED JUSTCOME GET US PLEASE. SIMMNS LEG IS TRASHD.

Careful of his hand, Grif typed quickly and haphazardly and pressed send. He sent another, this time painstakingly slow to make sure both words were right:

WEAR. MASKS.

* * *

Everyone checked their helmet lamps and weapons before they made their way in, following the safety line provided. They stood grouped together in the silent mountain, lights shining around at their surroundings.

Through the red armour, Carolina could see Sarge fingering his shotgun trigger, bouncing on his heels like he was excited.

_ping!_

Wash's communicator buzzed on his wrist. He held it up to read and his face fell. He barely had time to read about Simmons's leg before a new message popped up.

_WEAR. MASKS._

He slung his rifle over his shoulder and typed back, "what do you mean?"

A hand pressed against the small of his back. He turned to see Tucker staring at him. He could feel the aqua soldier's intensity through the visor.

"He says for us to wear masks," Wash said, puzzled.

"What the fuck do we need masks for?" Tucker asked.

_ping!_

_DO NOT TKE UR HELMETS OFF_

"Ooooh, look at the  _walls_!" Donut suddenly gushed. "How pretty!"

* * *

He turned to Simmons, who'd just twitched again.

"Okay, what the fuck is with  _that_?" demanded Grif, and Simmons flinched away this time instead of twitching. Guilt washed over him. He tried again, keeping the tone of his voice even. "Sorry, but seriously, what is that? The twitching?"

"My circuts--"  _twitch_  "--got messed up, I guess," he sighed, tapping his stump. Sparks leapt to his fingertips and he yelped. "Ow! Not supposed to just--"  _twitch_  "--rip limbs off."

Simmons gave him a pained smile while flexing his hand, which Grif did not return. He looked away from the mess of sparking wires and synthetic tendons to scan around the cave floor.

Ah. There. About ten feet behind the giant corpse.

"Well, fuck. Don't suppose you have a first aid kit in that bag of yours, do you?" Grif asked, disentangling himself from his friend.

Too tired for a nerdy, smartass response, Simmons just rolled his eye and nodded. He felt so heavy. He didn't notice his night vision flicker.

"Gooooooodammmmmmn it," the orange soldier groaned as he pushed himself up the wall and lurched to his feet. And when he was steady(ish), "Fuck."

Before he took a step, he heard his communicator ping. Quickly, he typed back roughly:

RADIOS SHOT HALFWAY IN. TURN OFF ND YELL IF U HAVE TO BUT KEEP YOUR FILTRS ON. DO NOT BREATH WALL GLITTER.

* * *

"Donut, get away from that!" Wash said sharply.

The lightish red soldier snapped back to attention, his body language a little sheepish.

"What?" He asked innocently, like he hadn't been about to try making a handprint on the wall.

"Everyone keep your helmets on and don't touch whatever's on the walls if you can help it. Grif is being very… adamant about that," Wash explained, eyeballing the shale colored sparkles catching the light. It was floating everywhere.

* * *

Shocks of pain made Grif's legs tremble as he shuffled his way stiffly towards the discarded duffel bag. The contents looked like they were still more or less intact, for which Grif thanked their lucky stars.

 _'Fuck, they'd better get here quick,'_  thought Grif.

Trying not to think too much about it, Grif bent down quickly, swooped up the bag and nearly vomited at the excruciating sensation that ripped through him with the movement. He must have made some sort of noise as he dropped to his knees.

 _'Come on, this isn't even that bad,'_  he chided himself, trying to catch his breath.

"G-Grif?"

There was a quiet sort of urgency in Simmons's voice that made Grif's eyes dart towards him.

The redhead was on his side, metal arm pinned beneath him. He was struggling to upright himself. His human eye was wild with panic as he pushed against the ground. His Cyborg eye was… dark? That was never good.

"H-help." The word was little more than a breathy whisper that hung in the dark.

_"Son of a bitch!"_

Grif couldn't stop the curse as he shot back to his feet, bag clutched in his hand. His torn skin felt like it was on fire. He stumbled back to his friend's side and he all but dropped back to the ground, breathing hard.

"Simmons! Hey! Come on, man, it's okay. The whole gang's on their way," said Grif, tugging him gently upright again. He was vaguely proud his voice didn't shake.

"G-Gr-r-rif, I th-think I n-need--"  _twitch_  "-- n-need a p-power-r-r cell," Simmons forced out, his voice mechanical and stuttery. The effort left his chest heaving.

With trembling hands, Grif ripped the zipper open and began rooting through it wildly. He tried not to think about how Simmons sounded like a bad recording of himself, how the light in his eye was dim.

Simmons drew in a gasping breath.

"F-front p-pocket."

Grif flipped the bag around and tore it open. Three hand-sized rectangles skittered across the floor. He snatched one up and pushed it into Simmons's working hand.

The maroon soldier lifted his shirt and strained to shift the nearly dead hunk of metal that was his arm to get at the battery slots on his side.

"Sh-shit, I-I c-can't-- I can't s-see, t-t-too dar-r-rk," Simmons panted, leaning back. He twitched again and grunted. "Please. Grif, I'm s-so s-s-sorry. I-I-I--"

Grif was already in motion before his friend finished talking. He laid him on his back, lifted Simmons's arm above his head, and shoved his shirt up in a matter of seconds.

His brain was numb as he located the battery slots and popped the panel on his chest open. There were three slots below his heart. The scent of burnt plastic with a tang of something fruity?

"One at-at-at a t-t-time," rattled Simmons, in his mechanical whirl.

"Don't worry, don't worry," chanted Grif.

He tore off a glove with his teeth and quickly placed a palm over the exposed batteries to feel the temperature.

The top one seemed warm, so that's where he began; pressing down the edge of the slim power source. There was a soft click, Simmons's metal parts shuddered and the battery popped up. When he took it out, he could feel the heat through his remaining shredded glove. He threw it over his shoulder where it clattered behind him.

Just as quickly, Grif inserted the charged power cell with a click and Simmons groaned, shaking again. Then he was still. His eye fluttered closed, but a faint red glow returned to the cybernetic one. A cautious relief filled Grif.

Rinse and repeat twice more.

When Grif was finished, he sat back on his heels, heart still pounding. Simmons, he leaned back against the wall, where he didn't move.

"Buddy? You all right?" Grif asked, nudging him.

Without opening his eye, Simmons nodded. He didn't have it in him to talk quite yet, as fresh power began to trickle through his damaged parts. He let out a whoosh of air. The redhead felt he was on borrowed time, but he'd be okay, for now.

 _'At least I can fucking move again,'_  he thought, wiggling his fingers before flexing into a fist.

"Fuck, I think that was scarier than the hellcreature," Grif huffed.

Simmons started to nod, but he cracked his eye open and cocked his eyebrow.

"'Hellcreature'?" He asked, the beginnings of a smirk on his face. "Did it give you the  _wiggins_?

Grif made a face and just shrugged, motioning to stinking corpse, "I mean… well, look at that shitshow."

The orange soldier winced when he sat down. He patted down his shredded suit pockets and was floored to find his pack of smokes, crushed and missing a corner, but otherwise intact.

"Holy shit!" He laughed when even he found his lighter in one piece, tucked away inside the box.

Grif pulled out a bent cigarette, and inhaled the sweet, sweet scent of it before sticking it in his mouth and lighting up. The fire was still too bright passed his closed eyelids, but it was worth it for a few minute's peace.

"Ahhhhh," he said on the exhale.

He could already feel a little of the tension leave his back and shoulders.

"Ugh, as if the smell of that carcass isn't bad enough…"

Grif couldn't even be annoyed.

"You  _must_  be feeling better," he quipped.

"Okay, you fixed me up. Pass me that first aid kit and its your turn."

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

 


	10. Chapter Ten

 

Ten

I AM SO SORRY! XD

## Chapter Ten

Meanwhile, the Reds, the Blues, and ex freelancers made quick work following the safety line. They all kept their helmets trained ahead and filed quickly and quietly through the narrow twists and turns of the cave.

It wasn't long at all before they came upon the collapsed tunnel. Dust was still settling. Rocks were strewn about. A half-hearted attempt to clear the rubble by hand was made, but there was just too much. Even Caboose was winded after a while of trying to move the boulders.

All of this, Wash considered problematic.

Especially Sarge's idea to use grenades.

Another immediate problem: the six foot long, deep scratches embedded along the walls. Wash glanced at Carolina. She was already looking at him. Honestly, they were probably both thinking the same thing: they had to get to Grif and Simmons now.

Wash shoved Sarge's hand away from the grenades stashed on the red armor for the second time, fighting down a growl.

Tucker seemed to be thinking the along the same lines. His helmet was tipped to the side and he was tapping his boot impatiently.

"What about that little tunnel we saw back when we first came in? It looked like it went the same way. Worst case scenario, we have to come back here, set some grenades and hope three seconds is long enough not to blow ourselves -bowchickawowwow- up."

Sarge grumbled under his breath near the back of the line.

Wash blinked. He hadn't seen another tunnel. They'd all been so set on following the safety line, that he'd been a little less than thorough about the rest of his surroundings, he guessed. That was unlike him.

"Where was that?" asked Wash, taking a quick mental walkthrough.

"Like kinda off to the side of the one we're in now?" Tucker responded, calling through the helmet. "I don't know, but it looked like it mighta gone this way."

"Show me."

With surprising speed unfitting for such a large armored troop, they backtracked to the small tunnel.

Wash was tipping his head now, mental math mode activated, staring at the tiny opening.

Their armor was too big.

Hell, even without the armor, only the smallest of them could probably fit. Tucker was already shucking aqua plates off himself when Wash stopped him, guts twisting.

"Hold on, we can't ju--"

"No way, dude. No holding on. They said they were hurt," Tucker responded, chucking his breastplate to the ground. "We gotta go.  _I'm_  going to go. Anyone who can fit should come too."

By the time he was done speaking, Tucker was dressed much in the way Grif and Simmons had been; helmet, arm guards and leg guards.

Wash blinked.

Carolina was twinsies with Tucker in that blink.

With a sigh, Wash began stripping his armor as well. He narrowed his eyes at Carolina as he did so.

"…How did you even  _do_  that?"

A quick powwow and the plan was for Caboose and Sarge to stay behind with the instruction that Donut was to go back to the area where communications wouldn't fail. He would send a message to their trapped companions telling them to move away from their collapsed tunnel.

After a response, he was to get back to Sarge and Caboose and they were all to get to the collapsed tunnel and wait for the all clear.

They probably  _would_  have to use explosives, much to Sarge's delight. Only after they'd scoped the place out for any imminent cave in dangers.

But the thought of Sarge and Caboose left there with grenades… well, the thought made Wash's guts roll some more. But, then again, it could be that he didn't do well in tight spaces.

So, Tucker army-crawled his way into the tunnel first. He was followed by Carolina and Wash brought up the rear, with less room to spare.

Their headlamps were set as bright as possible, though the view, in Tucker's expert opinion, sucked. He made sure to share his thoughts. Wash throught about telling him the view back here was fine, if had they gone in in a different order, but he didn't fancy a power kick to the helmet.

"Well," Wash started instead, playing it safe. "If you hadn't been in such a hurry…"

He trailed off with a grunt as he whacked his elbow again. He had very,  _very_ little space to work with. He checked his communicator to keep him distracted from how tight this stupid tunnel was.

It was slow going and in some places, they had to literally put their arms above their heads and wiggle. In others, they had to help each other by holding onto one another's feet for that extra tug or push forward.

Eventually, just as Wash was ready to scream, the tunnel slowly began to widen.

* * *

Grif was puffing on another smoke and holding his flashlight up for Simmons, who was currently trying his best to clean up his stump. He didn't have the energy to take the leg off proper, but was instead contorted with it in his lap, a pair of needlenosed pliers and bits of electrical tape in hand. (Truely, Simmons had thought of everything.)

Grif was impressed with how quickly the maroon soldier managed to (mostly) stop the sparking, but every once in a while would still get a shock if he moved the wrong way.

After Simmons had bandaged him up as well as he could, Grif offered to go get the mangled metal appendage. Simmons followed his sight and just shook his head. He could see from his seat that the steel was bent to shit, with bits shattered on the ground. He could tell it was nonfunctional and really didn't want to look at it up close yet.

Simmons leaned back, panting slightly from his most recent jolt. He tapped his friend's shoulder. Grif turned the flashlight off and opened his eyes.

"Stupid thing," Simmons muttered to himself, glaring at the corpse.

"Yeah, dumb bastard," the orange soldier echoed.

His communicator suddenly lit up pink and Grif raised his wrist to squint at it.

"Donut says Wash, Tucker and Carolina are heading through that little tunnel to see if they can get in here. And to get away from the collapsed tunnel. Sounds like they have a plan," he read, then he chuckled. "Fuck, they're tougher than me; crawling through that tunnel. No fucking way."

"No, they're not."

"Of course they are," Grif snorted.

Simmons stayed silent. Grif glanced over and saw he had that look on his face again. The one he was wearing before he realized he had mutant glow worm night vision. He tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

"Spit it out, dude. Talk," he said, taking another drag on his cigarette. "You look like a fish."

The redhead jumped and his expression shifted somewhere between relief and guilt. He looked down and played with the tools resting in his hands.

"Uh, yeah. I just- I wanted to say sorry, you know, for dragging you in here. I, uh, I know your feelings about caves and I completely disregarded them. And then with the glitter stuff and you getting sick or whatever. And then  _this_ ," Simmons sighed, gestured to the carcass. "It's all--"

"Ugh, don't say it," Grif rolled his eyes. "Don't start begging my forgiveness or whatever, either. I could have said no."

"I… wasn't going to…? And it's okay if you don't forgive me. I'm just saying. You're tough. You're one of the toughest there is."

Simmons took a shuddery breath, surprised by the sudden lump in his throat. He swallowed thickly.

"Oh, sto-"

"No, but listen, you knew when you came in here you were scared and you did it anyway. For me. I asked you because I trust you, and you trusted me and look at us now. You're my best friend, and I almost got--"

"Come on, man, don't make this weird. Help is coming, so don't get all confessional on me now," but Grif's voice cracked.

The Hawaiian looked away, stupid tears threatening to fall. They were going to be fine. A little banged up and a few more scars, maybe, but still fine. He took another drag before grinding the butt out and wiping his eyes discreetly.

"Grif."

"Look- just… next time we're in this sort of situation, lets just not and say we did," Grif said, voice carefully steady.

"No, Grif, just let me finis--"

"No! Why are you acting so weird?"

"Oh, my god!" Simmons groaned, "I'm telling you this because I only have about thirty minutes of power left!"

 _That_  shocked Grif into silence for a few seconds. Simmons genuinely meant to have the statement sound somber, but there was only exasperation at the constant interruptions.

"Grif?"

Grif's heart had stopped. The Cyborg could see the fear freeze his face and he closed his eyes for a moment.

Simmons felt a heavy wave of guilt wash over him. He'd never be able to forgive himself if he made his friend wait for rescue next to a corpse. He sat quietly and let Grif take his time with the ill news. It was a few moments before Grif spoke again.

"But don't those batteries last, like,  _days?_ " he asked slowly.

"The circuitry, Grif. I was damaged. I slowed it down as best I could, but…" Simmons said gently. He shrugged helplessly, attempting a feeble smile. "In twenty minutes, nonessentials, basically anything external, will shut down and my remaining power will be diverted solely on life support functions."

The statement hung heavy in the musty air.

* * *

The trio crouched in the small junction, trying to peer down the two tunnels. It may have widened, but they all still had to crouch.

"Okay, well, it  _looks_  like the left one heads the right way, but I can't tell without actually checking," Tucker called through his helmet, leaning forward. "I say the plan is to check them, then meet back here."

Usually, the planning was all Carolina or Wash, but today, Serious Tucker was Efficient Tucker. The super soldiers both nodded at the plan.

So off they went. Tucker, one way, Carolina, the other. Before long, the exfreelancer had to stop and wiggle her way out backwards with a steady stream of panicked cursing as her suit and armor plates snagged her up. Wash pulled her out the rest of the way by her feet.

A forearm guard clattered out after her. She picked it up and fastened it back into place with an audible scowl.

"Not too small, just a dead end," was the short, irritated explanation she offered.

 _"Hey, guys! Come through this way!"_  came an echoing yell.

It was too clear. Like…  _he had his helmet off._

Wash snapped the radio on, wincing at the loud static. Right. He snapped it off and looked at Carolina, heart thumping.

"Let's go," was all he said before he dove into the little tunnel.

He knew Carolina was right behind him. He shimmied and crawled as fast as he could. Rocks snagged at his undersuit and tugged on his armor. His breathing became sharp and ragged as he pushed forward.

Just before he thought these tunnels would be the cause of his lost sanity, Wash suddenly tumbled. He somersaulted once and landed hard on his side. He heard laughing.

"Get your fucking helmet back on," he snapped, rubbing his ribs.

"Spoilsport," Tucker replied, but jammed his helmet on anyway.

"And Carolina! Watch out for that last step!" He yelled back into the tunnel, struggling to sit up.

In response, Carolina did some sort of controlled, chin-up flip that left her hanging on the ledge so she could lower herself gracefully to the ground while Tucker snickered as he hauled his partner to his feet.

"You," he rounded on Carolina, "stop showing off." He turned to Tucker. "And you. A warning would have been nice."

Wash turned away from them before they could respond to survey their surroundings. They appeared to be in a fairly large cavern. The floor was mostly flat, with a divet near the other side of the cave.

As they shined their lights around, it looked like a big, dark rock lay in the center of the room.

Tucker made for it, intending to stand on it to get a better look. Instead, he found it squishy and unstable as he pushed it with his hands. A strange, rumbly sound filled the air. Something poked through his glove and he hissed.

As Tucker hissed, he heard a familiar voice swearing, some rustling, dry heaving, and a grunt from behind… whatever it was.

Wash and Carolina dashed around it to see Grif thrown across a struggling Simmons. Various first aid items and tools littered their immediate area.

Grif flinched at the light and covered his eyes, Simmons weakly shielded his own, squinting.

"Grif! Look! It's-- dammit, get  _off_  me-- it's the Blues! And Carolina!"

"Oh, thank God! Guys, get Simmons the fuck out of here. He's running out of power! I'll be fine!"

There was a very frustrating moment where no one moved.

"Dramatic, much?" asked Simmons, into the silence.

"Are we really going there? Do you really want to talk about 'dramatic'? Mr. Twenty-Minutes-to-Live?" Grif's voice raised several octaves. He started to struggle to his feet.

Sighing, Wash tapped out a message. Almost instantly, his communicator lit up pink.

"Carolina, Tucker," Wash turned to them, "Get the grenades ready."

"What do you mean  _'grenades'_?!" Grif yelped, finally standing.

The pair of aqua soldiers dashed into action, sliding down the incline and into the collapsed tunnel.

He took a few stiff steps towards Wash, who was staring at him. He met him with a steadying hand on his shoulder. He quickly took in all the areas of shitty badages that were visible. He noted the fucked cyborg leg on the ground, about ten feet away, scattered in pieces.

"Uh, hey, did you know your eyes--?"

"Are glowing? Yeah, old news. Simmons is running out of time. We have about 15 minutes before all his power diverts to life support functions. Y-you need to tell someone to run for power cells right now."

"Guys, how we looking on the explosives?" Wash called, tapping on his communicator. "We're on a time limit, here!"

"Getting there! Fuck, I need something to pull these pins though! Did we really leave the line with the other three?" Tucker yelled, popping his head up.

"Shit," Wash started to swear.

Simmons started fumbling for his belt. His mechanical arm was beginning to lose feeling but he managed to unclip their forgotten safety line.

"Heads up, Tucker," he called, clumsily lobbing it.

Almost without looking, the aqua soldier caught it. Immediately he set to work, sliding back down. He quickly climbed back to the top of the rubble, where he and Carolina were perched and started carefully jamming live explosives into the rocks.

Wash's communicator lit up.

"On the other side, Caboose and Sarge  _should_  be doing the same thing. Donut is running for power cells," he reported. "Come on, let's get you and Simmons a little further back from this."

"Wait,  _Donut_?"

He and Grif went back to Simmons and together, hauled him to his foot. They gimped and hopped about ten feet.

"Would you rather I'd have left Caboose and Donut in charge of the grenades?"

"Touché," Simmons grunted, leaning against the wall with Grif. They stayed standing, the Cyborg leaning heavily on Grif while Wash dashed off to check on Tucker and Carolina's progress.

"See? We'll be fine," Grif panted, patting his back.

"Yeah. Yeah, we'll be out of here in no time," he agreed, sounding distant. "Hey, Grif? I think I should sit back down."

"Yeah- wait, what?"

"Uh, yeah, before I fall down. I, um, my parts are getting really heavy."

"Shit, okay," Grif tried to hide the way his heartrate spiked, but he was pretty sure Simmons saw through him.

"It'll be okay," Simmons said. He sounded like he was more reassuring himself than his friend.

He started to slide himself down the wall in more of a controlled fall than sitting down. That's when Grif saw the cyborg eye was dim.

"Guys!" He shouted, lunging for him. "Running out of time, here!"

Carolina, Tucker and Wash clambered out of the tunnel, trailing the safety line. Quickly, the teal soldiers hauled Simmons up and towards the hellbeast. One of them had snagged the broken maroon helmet from across the cavern. Grif's stomach lurched.

"For cover," was Carolina's short explanation before they gently set him down behind it and fastened the helmet over his matted, red hair.

Wash carefully ran the rope over the creature's back. Grif lowered himself down next to Simmons with Carolina's help. He could feel pressure building in his guts again. He swallowed his beating heart back down as everyone took cover.

"Come on, dude, we're almost through this," Grif said, ignoring the way Simmons's chest had started heaving.

"Yeah," he agreed, panting slightly. "Almost home. Hey, sorry in advance about this. My timing couldn't be more dramatic."

And the cyborg promptly lost consciousness. Grif pushed his panic down and reached over to shove Wash. He turned and noticed Simmons immediately.

"Shit! All right everyone, we're live! Watch your eyes and ears!" Wash shouted, gripping the bundle of ropes. His helmet tilted up. "This might be the worst plan ever. Of all time."

Everyone hunkered down. Grif covered Simmons's limp body with his own, cradling his maroon helmet to cover his eyes through the broken visor.

"In three, (Wash tapped his communicator) two, one! Firing!"

And he yanked the cords. The tinny, nail-like sound of the pins hitting the ground. He dove down next to Tucker. There was silence.

_'One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi.'_

Sarge and Caboose's timing couldn't have been better.

The hollow thud of one grenade was nothing to compared half a dozen going off simultaneously in the objectively tiny space.

The helmets helped to muffle the sound, but everyones' ears were ringing. The shockwave ripped through them, leaving their bodies vibrating. Tucker swore he left the ground for "like, just a second."

 _'In hindsight, that was probably a little too much,'_  Wash thought, dazed.

The carcass in front of them took most of the shrapnel, but Wash covered the back of his neck when he felt small rocks rain down. He felt another hand join his own.

Wash raised his head to see Tucker. It looked like he was talking, by the way his helmet was bobbing, but he couldn't hear him yet. Wash shook his head and pointed to his ear. Tucker nodded, pointed towards Grif and Simmons, then up, and then towards the tunnel.

Wash looked at the pair, Grif was already trying to heave the unconscious man up by himself. He nodded to Tucker that he understood. The aqua soldier was already sliding down the incline to investigate.

Carolina rolled next to Simmons and slung his metal arm over her shoulder. With her free hand, she tapped Grif to get his attention. When she had it, she counted down with her fingers.

Three, two, one.

Together, stumbling, they heaved Simmons up. Wash quickly took Grif's place when it was clear he was still unsteady. The orange helmet whipped to look at him and he nodded. He let him have Simmons and he very nearly fell over.

The ringing was finally quieting to a dull roar. Dust and glitter still floated in the air. They made their way swiftly to the tunnel entrance in a cluster.

When they got to the incline, Grif went slid down first, groaning, before anyone could stop him. Next went Wash, so he could maneuver Simmons down as Carolina passed him off.

"Hey, yeah! We did it!" They heard Tucker yelling from the top.

The grenades punched a wide hole in the cave in, but they would still have rubble to climb.

"Tucker! Get Grif over and then get ready to pass Simmons!"

Orange and aqua made an awkward pair as Tucker reached down a hand. Grif grabbed it and started to clamber up. The Hawaiian groaned when he had to shimmy at the top, his legs throbbing.

Okay, go, go, we got Simmons," Tucker promised, motioning to Sarge to come get his soldier.

Between he and Caboose, they easily lifted Grif down and placed him on the first available flat surface.

When he was down, the orange soldier suddenly yanked off his helmet, turned for the bare minimum of privacy and vomited. The sounds of intermittent heaves and swearing tangled with the sound of scraping rocks and scrambling feet.

When he thought he was done, he sat back, panting hard. A quick glance that, yep, glitter. Check. Awesome. And he was pretty sure he'd wrenched his leg wounds open again with the strain.

"Ahh! It's. So. Pretty!"

Caboose, once he realized Grif was done throwing up, reached out and flicked Grif's glitter filled bun of hair. It wafted down in front of his eyes and he swatted the blue hand away, annoyed.

"Quit it, Caboose. I'm pretty sure this garbage made me sick," he snapped.

But Caboose's attention had already shifted back to Tucker and Wash, who were slowly and steadily carrying Simmons over the wall of debris. Carolina brought up the rear, looking after the maroon soldier's head as it lolled over the rocks.

Finally, they were at the bottom.

"My God, man, what did you do to my Cyborg?!" Sarge howled at Grif, upon seeing the mangled stump.

"Did you even  _see_  that monster back there?" Grif yelled back, lunging to latch onto Caboose's arm.

Big Blue just hauled him up as if he were just waving his arm. Suddenly Grif was on his feet, doubled over from the pain of the speed.

"Let's go," he ground out, checking his communicator. "He doesn't have much time left."

"Caboose, can you…?" The question died in Carolina's throat as the Blue came over and scooped Simmons up over his shoulder. She looked at Wash. "Yeah, that. Thanks, Caboose."

"No problem. He is not very heavy anymore," he responded.

He started heading down the tunnel at a gentle trot, leaving a startled silence in his wake.

* * *

The sunlight was absolutely blinding. Grif hadn't even been thinking of it. The sun had slipped low enough that it hadn't lit up the crack. No one had thought of that.

Which is why everyone was surprised at the muffled screech that tore out of his throat. Tucker whipped around, sword activated, only to find Grif on his knees, clawing at his helmet.

Before he could deactivate the sword, Carolina stepped in and and grabbed him by the head. He fought her hard, starting to thrash, but she held him still with one arm and unsnapped the pieces for him. He froze when he heard the clicks. Carolina slowly let go.

"Grif," she said firmly, unfastening her own. "Can you hear me?"

He nodded, shaking. Quickly, she took off her helmet and tossed it.

"Okay, where are you hurt?"

Slowly, she slid the orange helmet off. His hands immediately flew to his eyes. He sighed softly in the relief darkness brought. His retinas still burned, making tears start streaming down his face.

Everyone was still confused. Tucker hadn't even put his sword back on his hip yet.

"Sorry, sorry, forgot to turn my night vision off," Grif's rasped out as if he could feel the group staring at him. The statement still dripped with sarcasm.

"God, you dumbass," came a warm, blessedly familiar voice. "Talk about  _dramatic_!"

Grif was too relieved to be irritated at the jab. He started feeling his way towards Simmons's voice and suddenly there were careful arms hoisting him up. They guided him to the back of the Warthog, where the Cyborg was perched on the tailgate, leg dangling, connected to what smelled like a small generator.

A hand reached out and grasped one of his wrists. Grif maneuvered so one hand covered his eyes and he was gripping Simmons back, trying to convey all his emotions into one squeeze. He felt a squeeze back and Simmons shifted to pull Grif up next to him.

"How are your legs?" Simmons asked quietly.

Someone wrapped a cloth around Grif's eyes before he answered with a chuckle.

"Shredded. How're yours?"

"MIA," Simmons promptly responded.

It wasn't funny at all, but it sent the pair into a fit of near hysterical giggles after their brush with death.

"So can someone let us in on what the hell is going on?" Tucker demanded, finally stowing the deactivated sword back on his hip.

The Warthog rocked gently when Tucker hopped into the passenger seat. They both heard him heave a sigh as he relaxed.

"Uh, well, we went into this cave and uh…" Grif was trying to stifle his laughter , turned his head to Simmons and shrugged.

"No no, start with the badass nightvision," demanded Tucker.

The Warthog rocked again.

"Yeah, start with that. I want to hear about the nightvision too," Carolina's voice came from the driver's seat.

Grif thought he might have detected a hint of jealousy as the Warthog roared to life.

* * *

The pair of them filled in Tucker and Carolina as best they could. By the time they got back to base, they had a rough picture of their misadventure and Grif was the one nearly passed out.

Wash had called Doctor Grey again on the ride back from the other Jeep and she was  _very_  interested in the part about glowing eyes, glittery vomit and the 'hellbeast' as Grif insisted on calling it. The first contact, (unbeknownst to anyone but Wash on account of forgetfulness amid panic) had been a quick text message telling her that they were heading on the rescue mission and that paramedics would probably be required upon retrieval. 

She'd arranged for a Pelican from Chorus, equipped with some of her best doctors to bring everyone, and she stressed  _everyone_ , to Chorus for quarantine and sanitization.

It was already landing by the time they were home. Several doctors and aids dressed in green hazmat armor bustled forward to bundle the injured pair inside the ship immediately.

* * *

The gang currently had the hallway outside Grif and Simmons's room to themselves. They'd arrived at the hospital in record time and were whisked off to another set of sterilizing showers. Everyone wore matching grey scrubs while their suits were cleaned.

"A  _moles arida draco_! Ooh, how  _exciting!_  You're lucky to have survived! They're very much like grizzly bears found on Earth!"

"Sorry, did you say they fought the equivelant of a bear?!" Wash demanded. "With hunting knives and shovels?!"

"No, sweetie, this is much stronger than a bear! The Latin translation literally means 'glowing mole dragon'. Their scales glow brighter the more agitated they become!" Dr. Grey said, voice dripping with sweetness. She punched something in on her datapad and then turned it around. "Is this what you saw? They can reach about the size of an elephant if given enough time, but they're quite rare!"

The group looked at the screen. The big claws, snout and fur were unmistakable.

"And what do you mean 'they'? Are you implying that Grif and Simmons fought it off themselves?"

"Griff fought a  _dragon_?!" Cabooses voice rose several octaves in excitement.

Donut, who was rubbing Caboose's wet hair with a towel, gently shushed him.

"Oops, sorry, I mean  _Griff fought a dragon?!_ " he repeated in a staged whisper.

"Uh, yeah, it got to them before we did," Wash said, rubbing the back of his head with his towel. "It was dead by the time we got there."

"Fascinating, and did you see any other bioluminescent life forms?"

"Actually, yeah,  _I_  did," Donut piped up. "They were, like, glow worms, stuck to the ceiling. I wondered if that's where the glitter came from."

"Interesting. It's quite possible that the glittery substance is some sort of paralytic. We'll know when the lab results are back, but I theorize that the glittery substance is a way to incapacitate prey for the mostly blind mole dragon, and then the glowworms feed off of the leftover, decaying flesh. Either way, we've flushed Grif's system of it, washed his hair several times, and have him on antibiotics intravenously," she rattled all of this off very quickly and very cheerfully, then tilted her head.

"Often cave dwellers have some sort of symbiotic relationships," she mused, tapping the chin of her helmet, oblivious to the awkward silence. "Too bad I just don't have the time or guts to study them thoroughly at the moment. Well, I  _do_ , but I prefer them to stay inside my body!"

"Speaking of 'symbiotic relationships'," Tucker interrupted, wincing when her head swiveled towards him, "Can we see them yet?"

Inside the dark room, Simmons's snorting set Grif off into another silent wave of laughter halfway through the rundown going on in the hallway. He'd woken up to Simmons, in a wheelchair, high as a kite. He had one hand over Grif's mouth and the other pointing at the door.

Which would have been alarming, had Simmons not been fighting off his own fit of giggles.

Grif's own head felt pleasantly foggy. He nodded and Simmons let go. Grif let out a whoosh air.

_"Wow."_

Simmons nodded now.

"Wow, that is  _good_  stuff. I can't even feel my legs."

The Cyborg nodded again, smiling widely.

"Me either! Hey, pssst! Doctor Grey said what we fought a  _grizzly dragon_ ," Simmons snickered, "But i didn't see  _annny_  firebreathing, so it doesn't count!"

"No, dipshits, it was a glowing mole dragon. Doctor Grey said their  _temperament_  was like a pissed off grizzly bear," corrected Tucker from the doorway.

"Tuckeeer!" They cheered, and then yelled, "Heeeey!" when the whole gang piled into the room.

They were met with cheers of their own.

"Yay! You guys slayed a dragon!" Caboose shouted.

Wash nudged him to remind the Blue to use his inside voice, but-

" _Fuck yeah_ , we did! With knives and shovels! Excaliber can suck it!" Simmons shouted right back.

"I thought it didn't count?" Grif snorted at his enthusiasm.

"I'm assuming  _draco_  is in the Latin name and therefore revoke my statement. We're fuckin' dragonslayers, dude!"

"Oookay, let's not forget this is a hospital," but Wash was smiling.

"That's right. Let's all calm down," Sarge backed him up, then added, "Grif, I'm gonna need them glowin' eyeballs, by the way."

"Wh- for  _what_?" the orange soldier shrieked. "Besides! Doctor Grey is fixing them, so no!"

"…rats," he mumbled.

Carolina shook her head, amused, as she moved closer to the bed.

"Seriously though, how are you guys feeling?"

"Pretty damn awesome, honestly," Grif replied. "I mean I know we got our asses beat, but fuck, it was badass, at least."

"Yeah, it was," Wash agreed. "Our moon is crazy."

After maybe another twenty minutes or so, at Doctor Grey's insistence, everyone began to trickle out of the room until finally it was just Simmons and Grif. A sleepy silence filled the air. An aid returned to help Simmons back into his bed.

Simmons let out a mighty yawn after he settled into his pillows. Grif immediately followed suit.

"Fucking shit, am I happy this adventure is over," the orange soldier sighed happily.

"Second," Simmons mumbled.

"Hey, Simmons?"

"Mmyeah?"

"Did you mean all that? Back in the cave?"

"Every word, Grif," Simmons slurred, eyes fluttering closed. Then he shuddered. "I don't know what I'd do with myself without you, honestly. I felt so guilty with the thought of almost leaving you with a body for company in the cave, I just--"

"Hey, man, it's over. We're dragonslayers now."

"Hell, yeah," Simmons agreed, holding out his metal fist.

Grif reached over and bumped it with his own.

"Night, dragonslayer," Grif yawned.

"Night, fellow slayer."

* * *

Notes: I'm really sorry about the delay ( ~~and lame ending~~ ) This story suddenly looked too big for me, i got overwhelmed, and i had a hard time writing for the Reds and Blues, which I'm sure you could tell, haha, sorry.

Then i discovered a movie called Pilgrimage (with Tom Holland, Richard Armitage, and Jon Berthnal, it was amazing) and busted out a couple of fic for that, almost feverishly.

Thanks for being patient and sticking with me. Don't think i haven't noticed that hit counter consistently moving. Endings are hard. Peace and love. <3


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